The Invention of the Spork
by Yullenrin
Summary: Noun 1. Spork- trademark for a plastic eating utensil that has both tines and a bowl like a spoon. "And now! I bring to you, ladies and gentlemen, the spork of doom!" Introducing: sir Gwaine the Drunk Inventor.  Epicness and Mayhem ensue.


**May I present to you: the invention of the spork. Complete, total randomness.**

"Sir Gwaine, if I may ask," Merlin said calmly as he looked up," what the _hell _are you doing with the fork and spoon?" And truly, it was an amusing sight, to see Gwaine, holding a length of twine in one hand, while the pointer finger and thumb of another were pressing the two non-used ends of a fork and spoon together.

And Gwaine, caught in the act of binding the two cutlery together, smiled confidently and twisted his fingers with expertise, finishing off his "invention". He nodded towards the now tied-together utensils and said with a dramatic wave of his arm," you know, I was just thinking, the sound of "Gwaine the inventor!" sounded really nice. So, I came up with this. Pretty cool, huh?"

A pause. Merlin peered closely at Gwaine to see if he was mentally fine, and narrowed his eyes just slightest bit before proclaiming," Are you drunk Gwaine? Your face-"

Gwaine was quick to riposte. "Oh, I assure you. I am not drunk. I may have been to the tavern, and had a few drinks... or more. _But! _I assure you, I am perfectly sober."

"I don't think-"

"Hush, Merlin. You must get ready for the show. It is the biggest event of my life after all." The slight-red-in-the-face Gwaine, held his "invention" up high, and said in a mockery of a majestic voice," And now! I bring to you, ladies and gentlemen, the spork of doom!" He cackled in an almost evil way and swung the now newly named invention... "spork" around his head as if he were wielding not a fork and spoon tied together with some twine, but a mighty sword, ready to run its opponent through.

And after that invigorating statement and the proud display of actions, Gwaine promptly did a faceplant on the wooden table.

_**:: The invention of the spork ::**_

It was yet another hunting trip with Arthur. No, correction. Yet another _boring, mindless _hunting trip, with at least _three _other men _with _the _prat_ Arthur; the three men being, sir Gwaine, Sir Leon and sir Lancelot. The sun was shining (no, _burning_ more like), and the birds were chirping (to Merlin they sounded like desperate cries of 'runaway! The crossbows are coming!' or something like that); It was a deceivingly perfect day.

"Remind me again, why we are doing this?" Merlin sighed, and hauled the two dead rabbits higher upon his back, a crossbow held tightly in the other, free hand.

"Elyan had to manage to forge, no one was able to come for work today, apparently except for a minimal number of people. Percival, insisted that he not partake in these hunting activities for fear he might cry at the sight of a dead bunny rabbit or a cross-bowed deer- or at least that's what he said. And somehow, I can't imagine _Gaius _hunting, while Gwen is still... doing her own girly stuff. Buying cloths and cosmetics and such. That leaves but the three of us men, hunting together."

"I believe that does not answer my question, _Arthur._"

"You idiot, we hunt for the sport of it! To spend our time in a useful outlet."

"Correction sire," Merlin could barely conceal his smirk. "I am pretty sure Sir Lancelot would rather be polishing his sword- _again-_ just to make sure it shines in _just _the right way. Sir Gwaine would rather have his time spent at a tavern, eating all the pickled eggs, drinking all the ale and attacting all the women. And that Sir Leon would rather be down at the fields either training his own skills or training the new knight recruits to make sure they are, I quote, 'in tip-top shape, and ready to take on any monster, bandit or natural circumstance!', unquote."

"Smartass."

"Well, he's got you there." Gwaine raised his eyebrow, silently mocking the prince- no, _King _of Camelot.

Arthur's brows slanted down in defiance as he said," Hey, I resent that! He certainly did not _get _me-"

And it was at that precise moment when the bandits crashed in.

_**:: The invention of the spork ::**_

"Put your hands in the air, drop your weapons and don't move!" The rather high-pitched voice shouted out, authority held in that tiny squeak of a sound.

They were completely surrounded.

But before anyone could say anything, Merlin decided it was time to add a little humor into the whole tension-y, suspenseful-y mix by saying," Hey, li'l kid. I think it's you should be the one putting down your weapons. After all, you wouldn't want Sir Gwaine the inventor running you through with his 'spork of doom'."

"Wha-?" The kid- it was obvious now, from his voice- looked downright confused as he walked a little bit out of the shadows.

"Oh dear, Sir Gwaine. I do believe this little kid has yet to know what a spork is." He glanced with an amused look on his face at the smirking features of Gwaine. "This, my dear boy, is a spork." He raised the utensil he had swiped from the drunket Gwaine the other night.

With a deceptively sweet voice, Gwaine said- and please, take in mind that Sir Leon, sir Lancelot and Arthur were watching their every move, _including _the "bandits"- "Merlin, put the spork of doom away."

"Uh-uh. Fat chance." Then, with a wiggling of his eyebrows, he sprinted towards the kid and turned to see Gwaine right behind him, hand reaching out to grab at his necktie-

And it was at that precise moment when he fell, with Gwaine upon him, onto the poor "bandit" kid with the fork end sticking up... let's just say that it did not bode well for the bandit kid's right eye.

**And that was the end! It turned out weirder than expected, but still rather fine. Hope you enjoyed it =)**


End file.
